


Artemis

by jusrecht



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Crossdressing, Established Relationship, M/M, Makeup
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-29 01:16:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12619820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jusrecht/pseuds/jusrecht
Summary: A tube of lipstick unlocks many doors.





	Artemis

**Author's Note:**

> This one will be fairly short compared to the other chaptered fics, but anyway, enjoy :)

 

Newt wakes up to the sound of rain and the smell of wet earth.

 

These are the first things he notices. The next is the gentle press on his lips, too foreign to be a kiss and yet not entirely unfamiliar either. The hand that clasps the side of his face, however, is too intimate a friend to be anything else other than what it is. Or, more precisely, _whose_ it is.

 

Newt feels the beginning of a smile tugging the corners of his lips. “What are you doing?”

 

“Experimenting,” comes the low reply, close enough to his ear to make him aware of their proximity, followed by a caress to his cheek.

 

Smiling widely now, Newt opens his eyes and finds Percival leaning over him, eyes focused on his face. He has put on some clothes, Newt notices with faint stirrings of disapproval; which is rather unfair, considering his own state of complete undress under the blanket. Not that he feels inclined to remedy his situation anytime soon. The last tendrils of sleep still have a firm hold on his limbs and, cocooned as he is in the comfortable warmth, moving simply feels too much like an effort.

 

The room is draped in shadows. Only a small lamp on the nightstand is lit, a tiny pool of light that allows him to watch the flutter of Percival’s eyelashes, or the small frown that rests on his brow. The sky outside the window is an endless grey, but the rain is a gentle rain, soft and mellow instead of wild and stormy. The air is cool on his skin, not cold, and the heat of Percival’s body is more than enough. Newt cannot remember the last time he feels this relaxed, content to bask in the deep, pleasant ache that he always associates with a satisfying fuck.

 

“I still need plenty of practice,” Percival continues with a sigh.

 

“Practice in what?”

 

“In applying this.”

 

Newt blinks before recognising ‘this’, the object in Percival’s hand, as a tube of lipstick. A very familiar one, as a matter of fact.

 

Newt’s heart gives a lurch. There is a moment of horrified inaction as he stares blankly—and finally notices the moist slickness on his lips, along with a distinctive taste.

 

“Where did you get that?” he asks feebly.

 

“In your shed,” Percival sounds apologetic. That is when Newt notices a thin box sitting on the nightstand, filled with a miscellany of makeup tools. “I really apologise, but you were sleeping so soundly, so I thought I’d make the evening round for you. After all, it was probably my fault.”

 

Newt scoffs, face heating up. He does remember what they were doing earlier in the afternoon, the way Percival brought him to the edge as many times as possible using only toys of varying shapes and sizes until Newt begged himself hoarse for his cock. Which he only gave after Newt had lost any ability to speak.

 

“Definitely your fault,” he mumbles, ignoring the grin on Percival’s face.

 

“Indeed, so I figured I’d let you sleep in for a while. But we’d run out of the special mix for baby Mildred so I had to make a new batch and look through your shed for the ingredients.”

 

Newt blinks. “You made what?”

 

“The Diricawl mix. For Mildred?”

 

“You knew how to do that?”

 

Percival gives him a pointed look. “I did pay attention the dozen times or so you made it in front of me.”

 

Newt laughs, giddy with amazement. “What did I do to deserve you?”

 

A kiss brushes his cheek, brief and warm and sweet. “You saved my life, if I remember correctly.”

 

“Ah, yes, I did, didn’t I?” Newt hums, smiling. “No wonder I deserve all the good things now.”

 

“Oh, you think so, don’t you?” That is when Percival starts tickling him. Newt tries to twist away, laughing so hard that tears come up, but Percival does not cease until he has Newt securely pinned under his weight.

 

“Did I hurt you?” Percival asks softly, stroking the side of his left thigh. “Was it too much?”

 

“No.” Newt makes sure to return the smile, embarrassed as he is. “I would’ve told you if it were. That’s our deal.”

 

“Yes. Good.” Some of the tension leaves Percival’s body. Newt can feel his chest overflowing with affection, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from revealing too much. Sometimes it frightens him, how deeply Percival has burrowed inside his heart.

 

“So,” Newt clears his throat, “is this where I tell you why I have all these stuffs in my possession?”

 

“Only if you want to.” The reply is painstakingly neutral. Newt resists a fond, if slightly exasperated sigh. Of course Percival would come to that conclusion. Still, the concern is touching, and he knows that the older man has seen an excess of terrible things in his line of work.

 

“It’s not what you think,” he says in the most serious tone he can manage. “I don’t suffer from a childhood trauma or anything like that. My parents didn’t force me into a dress or put makeups on my face although my name is Artemis.”

 

The tightness around Percival’s lips disappears into a short but genuine laugh. Newt returns it in kind. Not for the first time, he marvels at the miracle which has made this extraordinary man, for one reason or another, take interest in him.

 

“So they’re dirty little secrets,” Percival teases.

 

“Depending on how you look at it,” Newt replies demurely. “It started as a bit of practicality, actually. I had to infiltrate this little den in Barcelona. They kept a few Diricawls in there—for reasons passing understanding—caged, also chained around their necks to make sure that they wouldn’t escape. Except I couldn’t get in unless I was a pretty young thing in a slinky dress. So I bought a dress along with matching shoes and a few makeups and taught myself how to wear them. With a little Glamour, hopefully I could pass for a woman.”

 

“And you succeeded, of course.”

 

Newt winces. “Not without some rather dreadful incidents. But the most important thing is, the Diricawls are now safe in the case. And two of them are Mildred’s parents. All’s well that ends well.”

 

The lipstick is back between Percival’s fingers. “So these are relics of war?”

 

“Well, not _relics_ exactly.” Newt bites down a grin. “The experience taught me something else. I realised that most men actually _did_ let their guard down around a woman.”

 

“I see.” Percival looks amused. “This became your modus operandi.”

 

“Sort of. It’s especially useful to gather information. If you only knew what kind of secrets some of us are willing to part with just to impress a woman.”

 

“I do know that. There’s a reason why the intel department is populated mostly by female Aurors.”

 

“Ah, maybe I should get a few tips from them.”

 

“I think you have quite enough tricks up your sleeve,” Percival says firmly, trapping Newt’s wrists above his head. Percival’s eyes, Newt notices with no small amount of pleasure, are fixed on his lips. He tries to stay still, heart pounding in his chest. It has been a while, but wearing lipstick always makes him feel different, and he likes the strange sense of power it allows him.

 

“No wonder they all succumbed to your charm,” Percival murmurs, his voice low and rough and the heat in his eyes making Newt shiver. “Your lips are positively indecent just as they are, but in this colour, they’re downright illegal.”

 

Newt scoffs—mostly to hide his embarrassment. “You should’ve seen me when I just started. I was younger back then, more suited for these things.”

 

“You look very beautiful to me right now,” Percival declares solemnly.

 

This time, Newt cannot help a smile. “Flatterer.”

 

“A very smitten flatterer,” Percival corrects him. “May this poor, smitten man kiss you, Mr Scamander?”

 

“I believe that’s a liberty you have taken plenty of times, Mr Graves.”

 

“Indeed. How rude of me.”

 

“The rudest of men.”

 

“But I’ll be very remiss not to pay homage to such an enchanting colour.”

 

“Surely you have kissed women wearing lipstick before, Mr Graves?”

 

“None of them were you, so.”

 

Newt feigns a surprised gasp. “How tragic. I wonder how we can remedy that.”

 

“Just be quiet.” There is laughter pressed into his mouth. Percival kisses the way he makes love, deep, passionate, thorough. Newt feels himself melting into the kiss. His hands are clenching in the firm grip of Percival’s fingers, but he does not try to break free. Some things are worth surrender.

 

“Well, I can safely say that I like you the most,” is Percival’s verdict a moment later.

 

“That’s reassuring,” Newt mutters wryly. A frisson of heat thrums under his skin and he is glad to see the same kind of intensity in Percival’s eyes.

 

“If you need further reassurance, however.”

 

Newt laughs, hooking a leg around Percival’s hips. The box lies forgotten for the moment, but the way Percival looks at him is etched forever in his mind.

 

_**End Chapter 1** _

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